


Faithfully

by wtfrenchtoast



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Baby!Fic, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Long-Distance, Post Avengers (Movie), sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:13:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfrenchtoast/pseuds/wtfrenchtoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Across the miles, they make do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faithfully

**Author's Note:**

> Follow-up to my story Chances. Can be read alone too!
> 
> Song belongs to Journey. As if you didn't already know ;)

_Highway run into the midnight sun_

_Wheels go round and round_

_You're on my mind_

 

Clint startles awake. His phone buzzes obnoxiously; who the hell? He glances at the digital clock on his nightstand. 3:44. And not in the afternoon.

 

Bleary-eyed, he grabs the offending object and glares at it accusingly, until he notices the source. It's a text from Natasha.

 

_You up?_

 

She's in Beijing, working. It's roughly, what, quarter to five in the afternoon there? He groans, but replies anyway.

 

_I am now. You good?_

 

_Get online._

 

He blinks slowly. If he had ever made the mistake of thinking that being married to Natasha meant he would have her figured out, that was an illusion long past.

 

_Alright._

 

Clint swings his legs over the side of his narrow, SHIELD-standard twin bed and clicks the lamp on. The yellowed light is harsh and he winces as his eyes adjust.

 

He spies his laptop across the small room on his desk. With heavy, sluggish steps, he fetches it and crawls back into bed, placing it on his lap as he waits for it to boot up. They have a secure video conferencing program that's intended for mission work, of course, but it's a running joke among the agents that it's more commonly used for, ahem, recreational purposes.

 

He and Natasha are no strangers to...utilizing their resources when the situation calls for it. They're just smart enough not to get caught.

 

Clint logs in, and sees that she's already online and waiting for him.

 

The video window opens, and all of his annoyance at being unceremoniously awoken vanishes. She's there, her laptop on the bed in front of her, lying on her stomach in front of the webcam. The black camisole she’s wearing gives him a fantastic view of her cleavage as it presses against the bedspread. She’s smiling that little secret smile she only gives him when they’re alone.

 

It hits him like a gust of cold air; he misses her so badly it aches like a phantom limb. Three weeks and four days since she boarded a plane and he kissed her goodbye right in the middle of the SHIELD hangar, swinging her around like they newlyweds they were.

 

Hopeless romantics, they were not. But a pair of rings and a piece of paper were beginning to seriously challenge that long-held belief.

 

“Hey,” she murmurs quietly.

 

“Hey yourself,” he replies, a yawn escaping his throat despite himself.

 

“Sorry for the wake-up call.”

 

“No, you’re not,” he counters with a wry smile.

 

She shrugs, which does fascinating things to her breasts, he notices. “No, I’m not,” she agrees. Her fingers toy with a stray curl that dangles at her cheekbone. “You been keeping busy without me?”

 

“Oh, yeah, my schedule’s packed. Watched paint dry yesterday, alphabetized my DVD collection, cleaned and polished every weapon in the armory-“

 

“That last one I actually believe,” Natasha cut in, rolling her eyes. “But come on, it can’t be that bad.”

 

“I’m serious. You’re lucky you got ahold of me when you did – this is my only available time slot from now til next Tuesday.”

 

She lets out a short laugh, and then her expression turns wistful. “Tuesday,” she repeats, savoring the word. “I’ll be back on Tuesday.”

 

Clint can’t stop himself from grinning, and then realizes he doesn’t need to hold back. He’s still getting used to allowing himself these things. “Yeah? That’s…three days from now. Well, two and a half, for those of us on the other side of the planet.”

 

She stares directly into the camera, and even across the miles that separate them she can still send chills down his spine. “I miss you,” she admits.

 

“Trust me, you have no idea,” he says softly. He reaches out and grips the laptop screen as if somehow she could feel it.

 

After what probably qualified as a literal shotgun wedding aboard a Quinjet, surrounded by the rest of the Avengers as they waged an air battle and outrunning a nuclear blast, Clint had found that little had changed in their relationship. They were still partners who fought and trained together, pushed the other one to be faster and better and stronger.

 

What drove it all home was the separation. Oh, it happened often enough. For all that they were partners, they had very different skill sets, and it wasn’t common that both were needed on the same mission. He never liked it before, but it was bordering on unbearable now.

 

So, they improvise.

 

Her fingers trail down her neck and he knows she’s watching his eyes as they follow. “No idea, huh? Is that right? Maybe you should enlighten me. I’d like to know more about your...ideas.”

 

_Through space and time_

_Always another show_

_Wondering where I am lost without you_

Clint’s eyes fix on hers through the webcam. “Yeah? I think that can be arranged.” He settles back against the headboard and tilts the laptop screen just right, so she gets a full view of him.

 

“Let me see what you’re wearing.”

 

Natasha obediently stands, rewarding Clint with a slow twirl of her body that shows him the black camisole and lacy black panties she’s got on. It’s far from provocative on its own, practically ordinary, but on her pin-up girl figure it’s downright obscene.

 

“Mmm,” he hums appreciatively. “You make that look too damn good, sweetheart.”

 

She tosses a knowing smile over her shoulder at him. “All for you,” she breathes, and his blood races.

 

“Better be,” he throws back. He knows she loves when he gets possessive on her, though she’d never admit it out loud. “Let’s see what you got underneath.”

 

Still facing away from the webcam, she crosses her arms over her belly and grabs the hem of her tank. Slowly, inch by aching inch, she drags it over her stomach and breasts, revealing more and more flawless ivory skin to his ravenous stare. He takes in the smooth planes of her back, the gentle curve of her hourglass shape. Was there anything about this woman that didn’t drive him crazy?

 

Oh, and it gets better. Two slender fingers hook into the waistband of her low-riding panties, and Clint holds his breath as she works them down over her hips, her perfect thighs. As they slip further and further down her legs, she bends over, treating him to a million-dollar view of the finest ass he’d ever seen. When the lamplight hits her just the right way, he gets a glimpse of the wetness coating her center.

 

“Fuck,” he pants. “That’s my girl.” He reaches into his boxers, unable to tear his eyes from the screen, and pulls himself out. He’s already hard enough to cut glass.

 

Natasha finally turns back to the camera. Her hands cup her breasts as she settles back into her chair, and she pinches one nipple with a ragged moan.

 

“Slide those hands down a little further, baby,” he croons. One hand moves down her flat belly to where her hip meets her thigh. “Little more. That’s it,” when she reaches where she’s so wet she’s leaving a shiny spot on the leather seat. “Let me see how much you miss me.”

 

They’re not always this raunchy but with the distance between them, they have to get a little creative. She dips a finger between her slick lips, circles her clit a few times. He watches agonizingly as she slips it inside herself, whimpering with the pleasure.

 

Clint’s eyes nearly roll back in his head when she holds her hand up to the camera, coated with her own arousal. “You like?” she teases.

 

“Oh, yeah. That’s fucking gorgeous. Rub your clit – let me see you get yourself nice and hot.” He jerks himself firmly, twisting a little when he reaches the tip. Just like she does for him.

 

She obliges, working herself over into a frenzy. Her other hand sneaks downward and she pushes two fingers inside, pumps hard. It’s a beautiful sight. Her eyes are dark with lust and half-lidded, and he can make out the light sheen of sweat that’s broken out over her forehead. Legs spread wide, she adds a third finger and cries out desperately.

 

“Fuck,” she pants. “I’m getting close, Clint, I’m gonna come for you-“

 

“Good girl,” he rasps. “You know what I’d do to you if I was there, right? I’d bury my face in that pussy and eat you for hours. I’d fuck you with my tongue just the way you like.” He earns a high-pitched moan for that one. “I’d hold you down while you come all over my face, and while you’re still tight I’d flip you over and slam my cock into you. Pound you so fucking hard the whole city’ll hear you scream my name.” He’s jacking himself furiously now and feels the tightening in his balls; he’s not gonna last much longer.

 

That does it. Natasha’s face twists into an exquisite grimace and with a guttural cry her orgasm seizes her. She rides it out, fingers still buried in her pussy and against her clit. He follows a mere second or two after, her eyes opening just in time to see his cock jerk and his release pulse out of him. It coats his fist as he milks himself through the waves of pleasure coursing through his body.

 

With a tired smile, Clint cleans himself up with an old t-shirt lying on the floor nearby. He returns to the bed where she’s waiting for him on the screen. “Well,” he begins. “Best reason I ever had for interrupting a good night’s sleep.”

 

Natasha’s answering grin is so sincere, so purely full of love that his heart truly hurts for how much he misses her. “Sorry,” she replies without sounding so, not one bit.

 

“Should be. I got an appointment first thing tomorrow. Counting ceiling tiles. Hard job, but somebody’s gotta do it.”

 

The video window fills with her face, and the unguarded emotion she’s letting shine through is an image that Clint will carry with him to his grave. “I love you,” she whispers.

 

“Love you too, Nat. Hurry home.”

 

*          *          *

 

He drops his bag unceremoniously onto the hardwood like there were rocks inside, instead of his cherished bow and arrows. She’s been back for at least an hour already and one thing after another held him up at HQ – the longest debrief in the history of the agency, a mountain of unfinished paperwork, and then a goddamn fender-bender in front on him on the way back.

 

He even had a half-decent dinner planned for them – a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and a stir-fry that he’d been promised by Pepper was straight from the menu of her and Tony’s personal chef.

 

Clint tears through their apartment until he finds her, curled up on their bed with a book. He revels in her presence; the tension that held him taut for almost a month in her absence drains from his muscles, and replaces itself with anticipation. It lights him up like a beacon.

 

“Honey, I’m home,” he announces with exaggerated bravado, spreading his arms wide, a ridiculous grin on his face.

 

Her book is laid to the side, forgotten. If she’s surprised to see him, she doesn’t show it. “Long time no see,” she greets, voice like silk and it sends his blood, boiling and ravenous, on a freight train south. Her eyes tick up and down his frame, eyebrows drawn together. “What have you been doing, Barton? Training for the Olympics?”

 

Natasha gracefully unfolds herself and slides off of their bed, crossing the room in several long strides. Her face drops all pretenses of being coy as she runs her fingers over the cut lines of his forearms, biceps, shoulders. His shirt isn’t tight enough to show off the definition of his abs and chest, so without warning she grabs the hem and pulls it over Clint’s head. “Oh my God,” she murmurs. “You _have_ been busy. You looked good before, don’t get me wrong, but this is…” She trails off, unable to complete her thought.

 

She can’t stop touching him. The appreciative way her eyes and hands drink him in makes him dizzy. “I like it,” she finishes.

 

I love that I can impress you, after all this time, he thinks to himself. “Yeah? How much? A lot? A little?”

 

Rising up on her toes, she whispers in his ear, “Let me show you.”

 

She pushes him down on the bed and strips him of his remaining clothes with a terrifying efficiency. She barely gives him a chance to keep up; one second she’s kneeling over his hips and his cock is halfway down her throat, the next he’s buried in her tight, wet heat as she rides him. He manages to slide a hand between them and circles her clit with his thumb, drawing a wail from her lips as she fucks him even harder. Their orgasms rip through them at the same time, cresting and falling together into a sweaty, tangled heap atop the bedspread.

 

Ten minutes later, he’s got her impaled on his dick, her back against the tiled wall of the shower as the hot water rains down on them.

 

It’s nearly eleven when they finally drag themselves from their bed, spent and exhausted, into the kitchen, Natasha wearing only a bedsheet and Clint in an old pair of sweats. The stir-fry ingredients remain untouched. He does, though, uncork the bottle of wine and pours them each a healthy glass.

 

He raises his. “Welcome home,” he says sincerely. 

 

Natasha holds hers up in turn, and they clink the glasses together. As the first sip hits his tongue, he notices that she hasn’t done the same. Instead, she’s peering into the pearly liquid like it’s about to leap out and attack her. Her brows are drawn together, suspicious.

 

“Nat?” He sets his glass down on the counter and takes her hand. “What’s wrong? It’s Sauvignon, I thought you liked-“

 

He doesn’t get to finish. Abruptly she thrusts the wine at him and darts away like she’s being chased. He hears stumbling footsteps race down the hall, and bewildered, he follows.

 

“Natasha!” he calls, unable to hide the alarm in his voice. “Are you okay? Was it something you…”

 

Clint stops cold in the doorway of the bathroom. She’s collapsed in front of the toilet, lid and seat up, and emptying the contents of her stomach into the bowl. The sounds of violent retching terrify him more than he would have expected. Carefully he approaches, settles down on his knees beside where she’s crumpled. His fingers smooth the hair away from her face. “Easy,” he soothes as another bout sends her nearly facefirst into the toilet. “You’re okay, you’re okay. Deep breaths. You’re okay, baby. It’ll be over soon.”

 

He continues to stroke her hair and back until her breathing slows, evens out. She accepts the wet washcloth that he hands her to wipe her mouth. Gingerly she settles back, leaning against the cold tile wall. It feels good against her clammy flesh.

 

“What the fuck,” she groans miserably. “I was fine, and then I got a whiff and I just couldn’t…”

 

Something dawns over her face – realization. It hits him a mere half-second later. He can almost visualize the mental cogs turning as it all comes together in her mind.

 

Neither of them speak for a full minute. If they say it aloud, they give voice to it, would it all disappear in a puff of smoke? Is that even what they want? If he’s honest with himself, he’s wished for this in the deepest recesses of his heart, but the reality is far scarier than he’s prepared for.

 

“I-I guess I wasn’t paying attention,” she admits. “Just wrote it all off as…exhaustion, and I’ve never been all that regular with my cycles to begin with.” He knows what she’s not saying – how could I have been so blind?

 

“Hey.” Clint crawls to where she’s slumped against the wall, and pulls her into his lap. She melts into him. “You couldn’t have known, not this early, there’s no way. Whatever it is…hell, could be jet lag for all we know,” and she gives a short, pitiful laugh at that, “we’ll deal. We’ll handle it, like we’ve handled everything else.”

 

Natasha nods, and curls into him even closer. They stay like that for a long time, until the gray fingers of morning light take hold on the new day.

 

*          *          *

 

She slips out early and takes a train to Jackson Heights. The hoodie she uses to hide her brilliant hair is oversized and faded, swiped from Clint’s closet many moons ago. The corner store clerk doesn’t spare her a second glance as she pays cash for six different pregnancy tests. For the best, she thinks to herself. If he recognized her, she’d have to kill him.

 

That’s a joke. Mostly.

 

When she returns to the apartment, Clint is awake and halfway through what’s probably his second cup of coffee. His eyes are wary but concerned; he’s no stranger to her…unusual…coping mechanisms and he’s learned to let her be until she’s ready. She says nothing, but pauses long enough to him to set down his mug and follow her into their bathroom.

 

Three minutes later, they stare down at the various plastic sticks that are neatly lined up on the bathroom counter. All kinds of symbols and colors and test windows; Clint’s seen hieroglyphics that are more user-friendly.

 

A plus sign, two pink lines, two plus signs, a pink plus sign with lines next to it, and one that just reads “pregnant” in the tiny LCD screen. They look at each other.

 

She speaks first. “We’re gonna need a bigger place.”

 

*          *          *

 

Clint opens the refrigerator. Three cartons of leftover Pad Thai, a chocolate mousse pie, meatless lasagna, a plastic container of rice pudding and six different brands of pepperoni.

 

He doesn’t even want to look in the pantry.

 

Life with Natasha tended to be on the non-sequitor side to begin with, abrupt and changing so quickly that it nearly gave him whiplash. Life with pregnant Natasha was like taking that life, funneling it into a cement mixer with a healthy dose of maniacal psycho and letting it tumble around for awhile.

 

He keeps reminding himself that technically, praying mantises were the ones who bit the heads off of their mates, not black widows.

 

From the smorgasbord that is their kitchen, he retrieves a glass of ginger ale and a small square of the lasagna. Lately her appetite was up and down so he tried to get her to eat small portions at a time. It wasn’t easy. With her due date less than a week away, she’s becoming more and more restless and uncomfortable.

 

He returns to the bedroom with a tray, which he promptly drops.

 

“Clint.”

 

The sheets are stained with a growing pool of red beneath her hips. Her eyes are huge and fearful.

 

React. Move.

 

He grabs a towel from a nearby stack and wraps her in it. Terror hovers at the edge of his consciousness but he tamps it down. Can’t panic.

 

He fishes his phone from his pocket as he lifts her into a princess carry. “Stark,” he chokes out when the call connects.

 

“Be there in five,” he hears before the line cuts off.

 

The rest is a flurry of a helicopter ride, a frantic arrival through the emergency department and into the birthing center. The concerned faces of their teammates float in and out of his vision but all he can focus on is her.

 

*          *          *

 

How are you real?

 

Clint counts ten fingers, ten toes. A tiny yawn. How do you know how to do that?

 

Seven pounds, three ounces. Twenty-one inches long. Nine months of waiting and worrying and relentless attempts to prepare. Nothing could prepare either of them for this.

 

Weary fingers weave through his as they gaze down at the reddened face. Eyelashes. A perfect nose.

 

Adam, they decide to call him.

 

“So perfect,” he whispers. How is it possible to love someone you’ve only just met?

 

He glances at Natasha, who’s watching him as if she can hear his thoughts, and he realizes that he already knows.

 

_I’m forever yours_

_Faithfully_

**Author's Note:**

> So, just a side note - most of the baby fics I've read for this pairing feature them having a girl. I thought it might change the dynamic somewhat to give them a boy instead. Not a huge detail, but I think it's a nice little twist. 
> 
> Reviews & feedback are fantabulous!


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